


And the Chorus Swells

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Yutae and other relationships, JTHM AU, M/M, Major Character Injury, Serial Killers, now with russian translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: Taeyong smirks, eyes dark.“Oh? Did you have something else in mind for tonight?”And the truth is, Taeil is trying to find a boyfriend. He really is.But he’s only human.--Or--Taeil goes on a date. It ends a little differently than he expects.The 2019 Halloween Special





	And the Chorus Swells

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods for hosting the super fun Halloween fest!! 
> 
> This is loosely based on the webcomic JTHM but you don't have to have any knowledge in order for this to make sense. 
> 
>   
Thanks to twitter user [staticinradio](https://twitter.com/staticinradio) there is now a Russian translation of this fic!!  
You can find it [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8776677/22417838)!!!
> 
> Please heed the tags!! This is all in good Halloween fun!

Taeyong is, for lack of a better phrase, too good to be true. He’s incredibly handsome, blood red hair and perfectly chiseled jaw. He’s bubbly, maybe the nicest and most talkative person Taeil has ever gone out on a date with. He’s dressed in a button-down and fitted jeans but he looks like he’s put no effort at all into trying to look good.

Taeil, on the other hand, is wearing a tee shirt and baggy jeans and is a ball of nerves. He’d clicked on Taeyong’s dating app profile because he was already reeling from a few rejections. Messaging him was snap decision. What did he _ really _ have to lose? He hadn’t been active on the account for a few weeks, either. And yet Taeil had sent a message and Taeyong had replied back the next day. 

_ You’re really cute. Wanna get dinner? _

And now Taeil is in some small family restaurant by the university trying to keep the conversation from dying. It’s not that he hasn’t been on dates before. It’s more that Taeyong is handsome enough to be a celebrity and Taeil has never been good at hiding the way he feels in any situation.

Taeyong’s hands are red. Really red. Like he washes them a lot, skin raw and cracking next to his nails. As soon as Taeil notices he can’t stop looking at them, like he expects them to crack open and bleed right there on the white tablecloth. Before that, he was staring at the corner of Taeyong’s mouth. It looks like his lip is split or that he has a habit of chewing the skin there. 

Nerves. They’re nervous habits, but Taeyong doesn’t seem like a person who gets nervous.

Taeyong reaches across the table and lays his hand on top of Taeil’s.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem a little distracted.”

Taeil’s whole face goes hot. Taeyong’s hand is cool against his, the skin smoother than it looks. He wonders what it would feel like if Taeyong touched his face, traced the edge of his collar bone, wandered down to his —

“I’m fine,” Taeil answers, giving Taeyong a small smile, “Still kind of surprised, I guess.” Taeil traces the side of Taeyong’s hand with his thumb. “I didn’t think this was how my Friday night was going to go.”

Taeyong smirks, eyes dark.

“Oh? Did you have something else in mind for tonight?”

And the truth is, Taeil is trying to find a boyfriend. He _ really _ is.

But he’s only human.

\----

Taeil wakes up. He’s not in his bed, which is fine. The night is a blur of the mildly creepy atmosphere of the outside of Taeyong’s home, pressing Taeyong against the front door and slipping his tongue into his mouth, pressing Taeyong into the sheets, the way his body arched in the moonlight as he rode Taeil until he came, moans and gasps and white knuckles twisted in silk sheets.

He must have fallen asleep. It’s not a big deal.

What _is _a big deal is Taeil waking up on a cold, damp concrete floor. There is a bucket by the far wall, half full of some dark liquid. As Taeil blinks awake, awareness coming back, he notices something else.

There is a man chained to the wall by his wrists. His feet are dirty and barely touch the floor. His shoulders strain and sag in a strange rhythm, like he’s struggling but he’s running out of strength. He notices that Taeil is awake and his eyes go round and wide.

“Help me, god, please help me.”

The man’s voice is hoarse. His shirt is sticking to him, sweat and blood soaking the fabric. There are a series of cuts on his chest and stomach. Taeil can see where the blood is especially dark. 

Fresh.

Taeil is suddenly _ very _ awake. He moves to stand and just as he takes a step forward, he feels a tug, looks down and sees thick metal cuffs connected to a chain barely five links long.

Taeil is chained to a basement floor. 

No, not _a _ basement. 

_ Taeyong’s basement_.

“He’ll be back soon. He’s gonna — _please_ —” 

The man is crying. Silent tears stream down his cheeks. Taeil wonders, in a far off place, how long the man has been down here. Did Taeyong kidnap him the same way? Answer his message and bring him home only to put him down here?

The fear hasn’t hit him quite yet. Maybe he’s in shock. 

“Who are you?” Taeil asks, and the man’s shoulders flex as he struggles against the chains.

“I’m Yuta,” he answers, “Please. You can get out of that, right? You gotta get me down from here.”

Taeil can barely slip a finger between his skin and the cuff. It’s a little rusty, and Taeil thinks that he’ll have to get a tetanus shot after this. Like he’s going to make it out of here. He does try, though. He tugs on the cuff, pulls right at the seam. He tugs the chain where it connects to his ankle, then where it’s hooked into the floor.

Everything is solid. Of course it is. From the way Yuta is chained to the wall Taeyong is a professional. This isn’t the first time he’s done whatever it is he’s doing.

There are raised voices above them. Taeil glances at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest. Yuta doesn’t make any movements. Maybe this is common. Maybe he’s used to it.

The voices get louder but they’re still muffled. Taeil can’t make out anything they’re saying. The argument reaches climax with a thunk, like a hammer hitting the wall, and then nothing. The silence, Taeil decides immediately, is much worse.

Taeil doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Yuta looks at him, eyes wide.

“Shh, you gotta calm down. That’s not helping, man.”

Taeil is dizzy. His eyes are hazy like he’s crying, like there’s a film over his whole face. It feels that way too. Like he’s trying to breathe through a plastic bag. Yuta counts to four slowly, and Taeil does his best to match his breaths to the tempo. 

It’s when he can finally breathe again that he realizes he knows who Yuta is.

“You’re from the news,” Taeil says breathlessly, “You’re missing. You’ve been missing for _ weeks _.”

Nakamoto Yuta. Studying abroad. Goes to Taeil’s university. He plays on the soccer team. 

“Time doesn’t mean anything down here,” Yuta says quietly. 

The basement door slams open. Heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Taeyong is wearing a tight black sweater and dark jeans. His hair is wet, freshly showered, and the color is as dark as wine. Or maybe blood.

Yuta’s entire body goes rigid. He’s struggling against the chains, and when Taeyong stands in front of him he screams at him, something harsh that Taeil can’t quite make out.

Taeyong ignores him completely. He turns to Taeil, walks over and squats down next to him.

“How did you sleep? I promise I let you sleep a lot before I moved you.”

He’s got that soft smile on his face, the one from his dating profile. The one from the restaurant. It makes Taeil feel a little sick.

“Why — what are you —” Taeil starts, but he can’t find the words.

Taeyong’s face goes blank, and then hard. His eyes glitter in the dim light. 

“I really hate blood, Taeil. It’s so _ dirty_.” He shivers, squeezes his hands in front of him. They’re so raw some of the knuckles are cracked open. “I don’t want to do this. You understand, right? You heard them upstairs, didn’t you?”

“You’re a fucking _ lunatic_. You’re _ insane_,” Yuta screams, the words hot and bitter. It’s like now that Yuta has seen another human being, he’s remembered his fight, or something. Taeil doesn’t know him well enough to know if he’s got any fight in him, but he seems to now.

Taeyong sighs, stands heavily, like he’s wearing lead armor under his sweater. He walks over to Yuta. He’s got the longest knife Taeil has ever seen strapped to his back. 

He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before, but Taeyong slides it out and it’s the only thing Taeil can pay attention to. There isn’t enough light in the room for it to glint as brightly as it does. 

Cold. It looks icy, like getting cut would feel like sticking your tongue to a pole in winter.

“_You_,” Taeong spits, holding the knife under Yuta’s chin, pressing the tip there, “aren’t allowed to talk anymore. He’s going to be upset if you keep talking.”

“Who is _ he _?” Taeil asks. He can’t afford to make Taeyong mad, but he also can’t just be chained to a basement floor and not know why.

Taeyong whips his head around but stays in place. The knife is pressing harder into Yuta’s skin. There is a drop of blood welling up at the tip.

“There’s a demon in my house,” Taeyong says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s trapped behind my living room wall. The only way to keep him from getting out is blood.”

Taeyong turns back to Yuta, moves the knife away from his chin and slashes him across the stomach. Taeil gasps and fights the urge to look away, to cover his eyes from the sight. He’s not exactly squeamish, but it’s so bright, there’s so much. Yuta screams, tugs at the chains even as the pain makes him sag forward. His shoulders are shaking.

Taeyong grabs the bucket that’s against the wall and puts it on the floor in front of Yuta. The blood soaks into his clothes, but eventually it drips into the bucket. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Like rain on a tin roof.

Taeil is going to be sick.

Taeyong turns away from Yuta again and walks back over to Taeil. He doesn’t squat down this time, so the knife is right in front of Taeil’s face. It’s red and wet. _ Drip, drip, drip_.

“I have to paint the wall. I have to keep it wet.”

Taeil realizes that Taeyong is talking, and when he looks up Taeyong’s eyes are shining with some emotion Taeil cannot possibly name.

Is he sad? Is he...happy? It’s like every facet of Taeyong up to this point has been a well-constructed lie, and the Taeyong in the basement, red knife and red hair and red, red hands. That’s the real one.

He finally squats down again. He reaches out and strokes Taeil’s cheek. His hands are like ice, cold and wet with blood.

“I told him that I was sorry. I told all of them that I was sorry. I don’t want to do this, but what choice do I have?” Taeyong bites his lip, looks down at the floor before meeting Taeil’s eyes. “You believe me, right?”

Yuta is wheezing on every inhale. Taeil wonders dizzily if Yuta is going to die. How deep did Taeyong cut him?

“All of them?” Taeil asks suddenly. His brain isn’t working fast enough. Everything is delayed, happening in slow-motion. “How — how many —”

Taeyong sighs and takes his hand off Taeil’s cheek.

“I don’t really keep up with the news. You’d know that better than me.”

Taeil feels like his brain is the barrel of a six-shooter pistol. He’s put one bullet in, spun it and pulled the trigger.

Taeyong is the serial killer from the news.

Well. They’ve been calling it serial _ kidnapping_. There haven’t been any bodies. There have been so many since the beginning of the semester that Taeil has lost count.

He knows some of them. Ji Hansol from his biochemistry class. The boy in the dorm next to his, Wonwoo. That guy that goes to Johnny’s gym, Hyunwoo.

So many more. Taeil feels a little bad he can’t remember all their names.

“_You_ — but — so many —”

Taeil can’t speak. He’s hot all over.

He fucked a serial killer.

_ Jesus Christ. _

“What’s a few boys compared to humanity? I have to remind myself sometimes, too. It’s disgusting. It’s so gross, I hate it. But I _ have _ to do this. You understand, right?”

There are only a few options. Taeil can agree with Taeyong, hope and pray that Taeyong will let him go. 

He can try to fight back somehow, hope to overpower him and maybe use that long knife of his to get the chains off his feet. 

He can disagree, tell Taeyong he’s insane. Clinically. Needs to be locked away for the rest of his life. And then Taeyong will get mad and he’ll chain Taeil to the wall and use _ his _ blood to paint the walls of his house.

He can’t hear Yuta’s breathing anymore. There is so much blood rushing through his ears it sounds like the ocean. He can’t tell from just glancing if Yuta is still alive. 

There’s that, too. He’s responsible now. For Yuta. He can’t leave him here.

Taeyong goes to his knees in front of Taeil. Like this they are the same height, even though Taeyong is a little taller than him standing up. It’s all leg, long, gorgeous legs that Taeil still wants to get between like he’s the insane one. There’s got to be something wrong with him. He’s seconds from dying and he’s still thinking about how much he wants to kiss Taeyong.

The knife trembles in Taeyong’s hand and it’s enough to snap Taeil out of it. He reaches out, takes Taeyong’s hands in his own. He doesn’t let go of the knife.

He can feel Taeyong starting to get impatient. He’s got to say something, _ anything_, before that patience runs out.

He takes a deep breath.

“I — I do. Believe you.” He rubs his thumbs over Taeyong’s hands soothingly. “You’re a nice guy, Taeyong. I could tell as soon as I saw you last night. You wouldn’t — do this — if you didn’t have to.”

Taeyong’s shoulders slump with relief. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. 

He meets Taeil’s eyes and gives him a blinding smile.

“I’m so glad. I knew you would.” His smile widens. “It’s always better, when they understand.”

The knife glints in the air, and Taeil doesn’t have time to react.

**Author's Note:**

> Taeyong is doing his best. You understand, right? ;)
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


End file.
